


Welcoming Committee II

by DarkShadeless



Series: Overseer Sar [17]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: AKA, Medication, Sar is having a no good very bad day, Sar spends most of this short story drugged to the gills, Uhm, fair warning, he's sure of it, of the heavy sort, this is a personal insult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 03:45:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14907705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: The aftermath of the disaster that is Sar’s first face-to-face meeting with their new and improved pet-emperor is a nightmare.On so many levels.





	Welcoming Committee II

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doomhamster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomhamster/gifts).



> Because after our note exchange yesterday Sar insisted he get a chance to sulk. :P Here it is.
> 
> If someone wants kind-of-spoilery trigger warnings they're in the bottom notes.

 

 

The aftermath of the disaster that is Sar’s first face-to-face meeting with their new and improved pet-emperor is a nightmare.

He could have fixed himself up, no problem, no fuss but _no_. Instead of meditating on rage, he gets dragged to the medbay under very ineffective protest. _Literally_.

Timmns won’t let him walk. It’s the most humiliating thing he’s had to endure since he had to crawl through the valley of the Dark Lords after the Incursion.

He’ll never live it down.

Getting his arse kicked by an asshole who cut his way through the Empire and the Dark Council both? Piece of cake.

Getting it _saved_ by a Jedi? A Jedi who insists on _mothering_ him? His street cred is toast.

Sar can tell just by the way people are whispering behind his back. They’re doing it right now, the assistant and the padawan healer on call, while the med droid is measuring him for a _cast_ for his arm.

A cast! He’s never had to wear a cast in his _life_.

As soon as they let him out of their sight he will get this over with and it won’t take ‘about two weeks under regular treatment’.

Dark Side healing might not be pretty but it’s _effective_.

… granted, you get all of the pain involved in one go but then it’s _done_ and you’re fit to fight. Sar has been setting his own bones since he was fourteen years old! No snot-nosed Jedi brat half his age will tell him what he can and can’t do.

Timmns seems to sense the turn his thoughts have taken if his suspicious glances are any indication.

If he ends up with a green watchdog barking at his every misstep Sar is going to stage a revolt.

 

He does, on both accounts, and his flailing doesn’t impress the Mirialan in the slightest. How it sucks to be an invalid. No one takes you seriously.

But that is only the start of his troubles.

As Sar had dreaded he ends up in front of Hargrev before the day is out, still stuck in a cast. It’s kolto-blue. He’s pretty sure he’s visible from _orbit_. ~~~~

At least they fixed up his chest. It took forever and the healer padawan’s weird Force crap tickled all the way. Which just goes to show that the Light Side is ineffective and a waste of time. Instant gratification. That’s where it’s at.

Sar eyes his superior’s table. His own colourful language is coming back to haunt him with imagery he could do without.

_Great, now I need brain bleach. Maybe the inquisitors have something to fix me up?_

Chances are good they do, the question is whether he wants them anywhere close to his mind. Probably not.

Hargrev clears his throat pointedly.

_Oops. Did I say any of that out loud?_

“Yes.”

“Oh.” They really have given him the good stuff, haven’t they? Shouldn’t it be wearing off sometime soon? Usually Sar burns through chemical inhibitors in under an hour.

His lord and master starts to massage his own temples with both hands. “At least I can be sure you will tell me the truth and nothing but the truth, I suppose. Out with it. What happened?”

 

Yeah, that goes down about as well as Sar expected. The drugs don’t help.

 

“You tore up an entire workstation to lob it at your opponent. The whole of it.”

“It was there?”

“Right. Please continue.”

 

“-and then Timmns got in the way, the dummy, and I broke myself trying to keep him not-dead.”

“Are you saying you did this to yourself on purpose?”

“Kind of? Ish? I didn’t really do the thinking bit.”

“… that’s rather obvious.”

 

Thank the Force that his guard has had enough of waiting outside while the victim of his care is being interrogated before Hargrev can decide to bend him over the desk after all.

Timmns elbows his way into their debriefing with a smile he must’ve filched off of Sar while he wasn’t looking. Isn’t that plagiarizitation? Plagi- blech. Words. They don’t work.

Copying stuff you should get punished for.

And totally will. Just as soon as gravity works properly again and Sar doesn’t need his convenient Jedi crutch to keep him from overbalancing off the side of his chair when he tries to make a grab for his smug green face.

… why was he doing that.

“Urg. I don’t like these meds. They make me _stupid_ in the head.”

It’s entirely possible he’s mumbling that into Timmns collarbone while the increasingly bewildered Jedi holds him up because if he doesn’t his co-worker’ll fall on his mug sitting up.

“Sar?”

“Hm?” He’s not half bad, for a pillow. Maybe Sar’ll have a nap. A nap sounds nice.

“Yon!”

Someone shakes him. Now that’s just rude. “Whazzit?”

“Allergies, Yon. Are you allergic to anything?”

Is he really supposed to know the answer to that?

 

The answer, it turns out, is yes. Yes, he is indeed allergic, to some minor compound in their wonderful Zakuulan-inspired medication.

Instead of going _home_ and making short work of his injuries the way he had _planned to_ he’s stuck overnight in a hospital bed being poked and prodded by a _slug_.

Dr. Oggurobb finds his ‘condition’ to be ‘absolutely fascinating’ and assures him his tests will only be ‘minorly invasive’. Sar inches away from his stubby grey fingers as much as he thinks he can without running the risk of falling out of his priso- bed. His bed.

 

They’re not quite at the point where the scalpels come out and the mad scientist can try and cut pieces off of him for study when Theron finally drops by for a visit.

His lover has amazing timing. That would have ended well for _no one_.

Sar can strangle a Hutt no-handed and blindfolded but he doesn't actually want to give it a try.

Not when he’s still as loopy as a Kowakian monkey lizard on adrenals. He might squeeze the life out of the nice nurse instead, the one who gave him some of the sweets they keep for young patients and made sure no one saw it, too.

His aim isn’t the best when he’s high as a kite.

That nurse is pretty great. He has forgotten her name but she is. Also, maybe, possibly feeling incredibly guilty they almost killed him on accident.

And she should be. That’s just unprofessional. You should always be murdering people on purpose. Or _pretend_ you are.

 

Theron watches him babble more than a little bemused, though it shades into 'pained' at the last bit. He's not even offended by the long list of nurse-what’s-her-name’s many many virtues. Most of which pertain to sugar acquisition when Sar shouldn’t be having any. He should have _nothing_. “How can I run on nothing, Theron? I need- need-"

What was he talking about?

Sar is vaguely aware that he’s embarrassing himself but he doesn't have the energy to care. Or a brain-to-mouth filter and his brain is on a spice trip.

Eh. Can’t be much worse than their first fight.

The spy is holding his _hand_. In _public_. That’s… kind of mushy, actually. (It’s _cute_ , although he will deny that under threat of torture.)

Sar doesn’t have the heart to make him stop. Underneath the first two layers of his lover’s expression lurks something dark that looks suspiciously like fear. His grip is a little too tight. Sar doesn’t say a damn thing about that either. He has _some_ self control, where it counts.

“I’m sure Andy will get you more contraband toffee if you ask nicely.”

Andy! That was it!

Sar has the feeling he has had this revelation before. Several times.

”So, I hear you threw four square meters worth of computer equipment at Arcann’s head.”

“It was just a small computer!”

“That’s not what I’d call ‘small’, love.”

Drat. He's so smart. “… he deserved it.”

The amusement hiding in Theron’s features grows less strained. “Oh, really?”

“ _Yes._ He was _there_.”

“A terrible crime.”

“He’s not supposed to be in our home, Theron!”

If Sar wasn’t so out of it he might cut back on the whine. But he isn’t and he doesn’t and Theron’s smile softens a little which is never a bad thing.

“I know.” He squeezes Sar’s hand while he whispers this, like it is some sort of grand secret. Like it isn’t _obvious_. “The Commander knows what he’s doing.”

The Sith watches him search for words to ask ‘can you believe that’ without making it something too close to official, words for ‘ _I_ have to believe that’ without admitting it to himself.

In the end he leans over and kisses them away, missing by a mile and finally getting that laugh he has been angling for. Theron is most handsome when his worries unknot and he _shines_ in the Force.

Some things don’t need to be said. (And anyway, Sar understands.)

They fall into a comfortable sort of silence, while he rests his head on his lover’s shoulder. He’s tired again, something that comes and goes, but he shouldn’t fall asleep yet, which is why someone has to sit with him in the first place.

If they’d just let him speed things up… it’s not like he can get any _more_ complications. Probably.

“Theron?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave me alone with the Hutt? He’ll _dissect_ me.”

 

That’s the scene Timmns gets back to from his tea-run: Juvard Illip Oggurobb being lambasted by a human less than half his mass.

“ _You were going to do **what** to him?”_

“I assure you, agent Shan, nothing untoward will take place. His condition is unique! It could give us valuable data for future reference. Just a few tests, a few samples-“

 _“_ Alright, full stop _._ What kind of _samples_ are we talking here? _”_

The Jedi Master wisely inches around the commotion to deliver his prize to its recipient. Sar is as pale as his sheets. The Mirialan himself probably doesn’t look any better.

What started as a close call became an even _closer_ one and he’s not sure he can take any more surprises. Not of that kind, at least. Not today.

The med droid had blithely thrown a 0.05% chance at him that someone not processing any intruding substance with Force accelerated speed would have been complaining instead of comatose in Sar’s position.

He… might have needed some air after that.

Timmns has been berating himself since then, for… for many things. For cutting into the battle as he had. For not noticing the signs of Sar's intolerance sooner. For not insisting he stay in the medbay. For taking him there in the first place, when the Sith was so sure he could heal himself.

Would he have been fine if Somminick hadn’t done any of that?

Moot points, some of which he _knows_ are wrong, and he can't shake them. Especially with the frozen moment hanging over him, when he realized just how badly he had miscalculated Arcann’s ability to pull up short.

If Sar had hesitated a second he wouldn’t have made that interception. The logical conclusion that leads to is as humbling as it is vaguely terrifying. From a Jedi it wouldn't _mean_ anything. They are supposed to put themselves in harm's way to help others. A Sith has to adhere to no such imperative.

“What’s agent Shan doing out there?”

Since Sar is as unguarded as he never is without the influence of more drugs than any being of his weight should imbibe in one go, it’s easy to pick out his delight. There's mischief lurking at the edges. “He’s saving me from the evil scientist slug.”

He leans closer to stage whisper loudly enough that the nurse checking his vitals has a well-timed coughing fit, “He’s my _hero_.”

Years, _decades,_ of Jedi training allow Timmns to take that in with solemn dignity. “I’m sure he is.”

Whatever he did or didn’t do, it seems Sar doesn’t hold it against him. Maybe he will once he's himself again, who knows. Either way the consequences are too fresh for Timmns' peace of mind.

"Now, I know you say the cantina makes tea out of dishwater but it's the best I could do without using your pot and-"

The Sith makes an incoherent sound of offended horror.

"That. I got the rootgrass you only somewhat hate. Enjoy."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mention of a character having something that's close to an overdose because they're getting medication they really shouldn't. 
> 
> I've always been amazed that fixing someone up in the Star Wars universe is as straightforward as sticking them into kolto, pretty much no matter the species. We only have humans on earth and on the same planet to boot and -we- have problems there.


End file.
